


I Say, Take Me Out!

by Anonymous



Series: How to Date Your Booby [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, just for fun, pretend dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 22:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17374193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Enjolras is always ready to help a friend in need... but at what cost?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for me as a birthday present! I thought it was so good that it should be published. The author wants to remain anonymous, but I hope you enjoy their work~

“I need your body.”

Enjolras looks up, confused, to finds Marius leering at him, flushed, sweaty, and utterly unrepentant.

“Uh...sorry, what was that?” Enjolras stammers, quickly closing his newspaper.

“I said,” Marius wheezes, “That I need your body. Help me.” With that, he sinks into the seat across the table and pulls both of Enjolras’s hands into his own.

“Look. I would never ask you for help on something government related or like...official,” Marius begins, ignoring Enjolras’s steadily rising eyebrows. “But I figure that relationships are probably your specialty considering how you look.”

Marius could not be more wrong. Enjolras stares at Marius, dumbfounded, while a vivid mental recap of his most disastrous interactions with Grantaire plays in his head. It had taken Enjolras an entire year, several interventions, and countless bottles of wine before he realized fully that R’s bizarre behavior– like the dinner dates that he always insisted on paying for, or the drunken sex and cuddling that had become routine, or even R’s odd insistence that they both own keys to each other’s apartments– had actually been romantically founded the entire time.

Enjolras feels his jaw drop in shock. Countless rebuttals flicker through his head, but before he can afford to spit out any objection Marius continues on with feverish glee. “I saw you and R. I saw your date and I saw how good it went and I...” Marius pauses, his eyes boring into Enjolras’s with an uncomfortable intensity. “I saw how much y’all wanted to fuck. I need that.”

Enjolras must be hallucinating, he decides. There’s no other way that he could be hearing this, and certainly no other way that Marius could have witnessed his date with R and come away with the heated, lusty interpretation that he had. He and Grantaire had been out, passionately debating the benefits of lowering the tax rates for hemorrhoid creams over cups of mediocre coffee, before the unfortunate combination of caffeine and hangovers prompted R to rush for the bathroom after vomiting powerfully all over Enjolras’s new shoes. There was nothing romantic about the situation at all, Enjolras thought to himself. Not even the Pop-Synthetic remixes of old American country songs in the cafe could make up for the mental image of itching hemorrhoids or the putrid smell of vomit wafting up from his new Louboutins.

“Uh...wait, you need what, exactly?” Enjolras ventures. Marius, for all his emphatic statements, has done precious little to explain what he needs from Enjolras. A general question is a good place to start, Enjolras thinks to himself, and pats himself on the back mentally.

“I… I need you.” Marius states, tightening his grip around Enjolras’s hands. “I need you to show me how to seduce a bitch.”

This whole encounter has been a fever dream, Enjolras decides. He just needs to give himself a little slap, and he’ll wake up safe and warm in Grantaire’s arms and far, far away from Marius and his slightly misogynist statements. He closes his eyes and gives his head a little shake– imperceptible, he hopes– and opens his eyes to find Marius staring at him, unblinking, utterly solemn, but strangely hopeful. “I saw you nod,” Marius says. “Wow. Thank you so much for agreeing to help me out.”

In that moment, Enjolras feels his soul ascend.

“So let me make sure I understand,” Enjolras begins. Marius is seated in Enjolras’s apartment, poking at the freshly dried paint on R’s latest creation. Enjolras resists the urge to smack Marius’s hands away and instead draws in a deep, calming breath, counting to three in his head just the way that R had taught him. 

“Well, there’s not much to understand, really,” Marius cuts in. “I just need to take you out so I can prepare for doing that with Cosette.” Enjolras ignores the slightly ominous phrasing and the rising annoyance of being interrupted, and settles on shaping his mouth into what he hopes is a pleasant smile. He can do this, he assures himself. Just one date. If he were alone, he would be facing a mirror and repeating his favorite affirmations and motivational quotes, but as it is, he settles with a quick mental recitation of Proust to give him a burst of strength. Marius is a friend in need, and Enjolras has never been one to keep his help from anyone. One date, and a few hours of discomfort, and it will all be over.

“You got it, Marius!” Enjolras hears himself exclaim, and, reassured by how chipper he manages to sound, shoots Marius a smile that he hopes is optimistic enough to cover any trepidation that he feels.


	2. Chapter 2

While Marius runs home to change his clothes and prepare for his date, Enjolras pulls out his phone and dials Grantaire. He can always count on him for support and reassurance, no matter how strangely it’s delivered. Grantaire picks up on the second ring, and Enjolras recounts the last few hours with a swiftness that most lawyers could only dream of. The line is silent for a few moments, before Enjolras hears Grantaire take a deep breath, and–

There’s booming, raucous, laughter echoing from the speaker. Grantaire is laughing so hard that no real words are coming out, and although Enjolras could listen to Grantaire laugh for hours, this certainly isn’t the time or the place for that. Just as Enjolras takes a breath to cut in, he hears Courfeyrac’s voice interject from the background. “Wait, Enjolras. Please tell me you’re joking and that you’re not actually about to be an escort for Marius of all people–”

Enjolras chokes. This isn’t escorting, not exactly, but the more he thinks about it the more accurately the label seems to fit what he’s about to do.

“It’s a favor. For a friend.” Enjolras stammers. “I’d do the same for any of you guys–”

Courfeyrac snorts so intensely that Enjolras puts a hand up to his own nose in sympathy, precisely at the same moment that Marius rings his doorbell. “Have fun babe, I’ll be waiting,” Grantaire crows, and hangs up his phone with an audible click. Enjolras turns towards his front door, reluctance dripping from every pore, and gathers up all his willpower. Marius needs him. Discomfort is nothing in the face of a greater good, and, Enjolras reminds himself, help is never something that he will keep from someone who needs it.

Enjolras opens the door to the sight of Marius– or, at least, whatever can be seen of Marius beneath his massive coat. It’s giant, furry, an odd mix of colors that reminds Enjolras distinctly of garden vegetables, and utterly ill suited for the balmy spring air. Marius’s head pokes out from two burly lapels, seeming incongruously small in comparison to his coat, and what can be seen of his legs– his bare, hairy, legs– is pathetic in comparison to the bulk of his outfit. The shimmering heat in the air does nothing to distract Enjolras from taking in the ensemble and calls to mind the heat waves that come from a carefully prepared grill. “Shish Kabob,” Enjolras catches himself thinking, before mentally slapping himself to do away with the thought. Marius has no idea that he resembles skewered vegetables and it’s certainly not Enjolras’s duty to inform him, he decides.

“Well hello Marius, you certainly look…” Enjolras runs out of adjectives in the face of Marius’s expectant smirk. “...distinguished.” Enjolras finishes feebly, hoping desperately that his tone doesn’t convey his inner thought processes. Marius seems to notice nothing.

“Well come on, can’t keep the town waiting!” Marius exclaims, pulling Enjolras by the hand out of his doorway. They make their way down the stairs, but Marius’s old beige Buick is nowhere to be seen. Instead, parked ostentatiously in front of Enjolras’s apartment is a massive pickup truck, splattered with mud stains and dripping oil from somewhere in its underbelly.

“Thought I’d break out the ol’ lady killer for this date,” Marius explains, winking as he pulls open the rust covered door and ushers Enjolras inside. “Hasn’t been out of the garage in what, five years, but I figure it’ll keep up okay. Almost forgot how to drive the darn thing!” Marius chuckles, seemingly unaware of Enjolras’s growing dread. Marius has never been one for observing traffic guidelines, and his pickup truck seems to be amplifying his irreverence for automobile safety. Marius jams the key inside and revs the engine, very loudly, and guffaws as the truck lurches into the road.

“So, where we goin’?” Marius shouts over the roar of the engine. Enjolras has no idea– he assumed that Marius would have at least picked out a date spot before he started driving. “It’s your choice!” Enjolras shouts back, hoping against hope that the rattling he hears is a figment of his imagination and not some crucial part of the machinery. Enjolras makes a mental note to take back every complaint that he’s issued against Grantaire’s driving. Marius is a driver like no other– he drifts through red light after red light, merrily cutting off every driver in Paris as he recounts increasingly mundane details of his breakfast to Enjolras. “So then I had pickled herring, but I remembered that pickled herring always upsets my stomach, but I thought ehh, who cares? It’s all going to the same place in the end anyway, am I right?” Marius turns his whole head to flash a grin. Enjolras feels his stomach and mind begin to float away as Marius sloppily executes a half-donut into a handicapped parking space. “Eh, those people are all just lazy anyway. Maybe ya wouldn’t be disabled if you exercised!” Marius crows. Enjolras thinks he might faint. 

The diner in front of them is, as Enjolras vividly recalls, a front for a local money laundering business. Whether or not they serve actual food was a question that was hotly debated between Grantaire and Eponine, but, Enjolras realizes as he grimly marches through the doors, will soon be a question no longer.

“Table for two, please!” Marius loudly exclaims, blatantly ignoring the garish “Seat Yourself Please” sign posted directly in front of the register. Enjolras offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile to the waitress and pulls Marius by hand over to a markedly dilapidated booth, and all but shoves him bodily into the seat. Marius takes no notice, and cheerfully pulls– and pulls– the menu from the table. A loud pop rewards Marius’s efforts, and the menu comes off from the table adorned with a dark brown substance crusted to the back of it. Blood, Enjolras thinks to himself faintly. This may be his final resting place. Marius orders for both of them– a trick which he assures E that Cosette will love– all while waving away Enjolras’s polite protests. “Everyone needs meat in their diets, you know.” Marius informs Enjolras solemnly. “That veganism nonsense is the reason why you’re so pale in the first place, you must understand.” Enjolras does not understand, and thinks to himself that he never really wants to. 

The food arrives alarmingly quickly. The waitress slams the plates down in front of Marius, and after a long, deeply scrutinous look at the both of them, hurries back into the kitchen. Marius wastes no time in digging into his bean and chicken casserole, shoveling it into his mouth with both gusto and his patented shovel fork hold. Enjolras stares down at his frozen meatloaf and reminds himself for the hundredth time that day that Marius is a friend, and is in need, and would be subjecting other helpless victims to similar dates if Enjolras had not taken their place.

 “Hey,” starts Marius. “I think we should switch. You need protein in your diet and I’d be a terrible date if I didn’t take care of you.” Marius winks with both eyes as he switches their plates. “That’s cool with you right? I gotta get myself a little taste of this loaf here,” he states, digging his fork into the meatloaf with a disconcerting amount of zeal. 

“Oh no, it’s fine,” Enjolras hears himself say faintly. “I like chicken.” Enjolras does not, in fact, like chicken, a fact that he’s vividly reminded of as he forces himself to swallow Marius’s lukewarm leftovers. Enjolras briefly wonders if the date could get any worse.

His question is answered when Marius jumps from the table, clutching his stomach, and makes a beeline for the bathroom at the exact moment that the waitress storms out of the kitchen.

“Now listen, sir,” the waitress begins. “I know that you think you’re slick coming in here with that Black Card, but if there’s anything we know how to spot it’s fake money.” Enjolras stares, wide eyed and immobile, as the waitress produces Marius’s credit card from her tab. “As soon as your little friend comes out the two of you are staying here...with us.” With that, the waitress slaps the card back onto the table and steps back. After what feels like hours, the bathroom door unlocks, and Marius emerges.

“Ahh, now that’s better,” Marius announces, rubbing his stomach with an odd vigour. “Gotta clear the pipes a little, you know? That pickled herring sure made a cameo there, if you know what I mean.” He chuckles, utterly oblivious to his audience. “Hey, what’s my card doing there? We’re not done already, are we?”

Enjolras grabs his wallet and shoves as much money as he can hold into the waitress’s hands. “I’m so sorry for my friend. We didn’t mean to make any trouble,” he starts, feeling smaller and smaller by the minute. “It was a joke, he really didn’t mean any harm…” Enjolras empties the remainder of his wallet onto the table. “I promise we’ll stay out of your way, now let’s go, shall we? Marius?” Enjolras grabs him by the hand and races out of the restaurant without looking back to see if anyone is following him, rips Marius’s keys from his hands, and all but forces Marius into the passenger seat. Cars and driving in general are not his forte, Enjolras reminds himself, but if there’s anything that he knows how to do, it’s how to consistently exceed the speed limit in any kind of vehicle. Death by automobile is preferable to death by a mafia front, he decides, and guns the engine with all of his might. 

They arrive back at his apartment exactly ten minutes later. Enjolras wrenches open the truck, unlocks his apartment door, and runs squarely into the arms of Grantaire. “So, pretty good, don’t ya think?” Marius preens. He’s looking right at Enjolras. He’s looking right at him and could not be more clearly referring to the date. Enjolras hides his head in Grantaire’s armpit and hopes that his silence speaks more than his words ever could. “Whaddya say, huh? Ready for the nightcap?” Marius executes another double breasted wink and swaggers up to Enjolras, openly awaiting praise. Enjolras slowly turns his head to look at him at the exact moment that Grantaire scoops him up, smiles grimly at Marius, and retreats back into the apartment. Enjolras uses his last vestige of strength to give Marius a feeble thumbs up and a sickly looking smile before the door shuts squarely in his face.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Grantaire asks, setting Enjolras down on the couch with all the grace of a farmer with his first crop of potatoes. Distantly, Enjolras can hear Marius banging on the door, but Grantaire is very warm and very present and Enjolras can’t bring himself to care about anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ijk4j-r7qPA)


End file.
